The Stories Unheard
by wingedauthoress14
Summary: Mankind has gone too far. The Hunger Games must be stopped. I shall climb into the dreams and ears of each and every person and whisper my stories of those killed in the games until someone listens.
1. Intro

Electricity jolting the brain to a stop.

A rush of water filling mouth and lungs.

Poison coursing like wildfire through the bloodstream.

Rabid animals hunting down and gnawing a body to a bloody pulp.

An arrow to the heart.

None of these things actually cause death.

I do.

I was a part of the creation when it first began. I was the end to a beginning. To someone's beginning. To everyone's beginning. I am the bookend of life. While I end the row of books, I also hold them in place so none of them fall.

Through the millennia, I have been an infamous guest to the affairs of the living. I have snuffed life like a flame from a candle, swiped it from those least suspecting, and squired it to its place in the next world.

Death is death. I am not kind or unkind about the taking of lives. It is simply my job.

But just because it's my job doesn't mean it's easy.

When the earth was just new, only animals roamed the planet. Death was caused by hunting, territorial battles, or illness. There were no qualms about why death occurred. It was unquestioned and accepted.

Then man came. And with him, came every question in the universe; a great deal of them, about yours truly. Despite the thousands of philosophies, cultural ideas, and religious wars, I have remained silent to the questions. I have remained silent. Until now.

This time, mankind has gone too far. Souls not yet ready to be reaped are collected and thrown into my basket, buds that have yet to bloom.

The Hunger Games must be stopped. To each and every person, I will climb into their dreams and whisper my stories of those killed in the games until someone listens.

You have waited this long for me to speak. So why don't you listen?

* * *

><p>AN: Hi everyone! This is my first Hunger Games fanfiction so I hope it's not too shabby so far. I have been a big fan of the series for a while now, so I thought I'd write a fanfiction for it. I apologize for this chapter being so short- it's only supposed to be the intro to the storyline for the rest of the fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed it; feedback is always appreciated! I hope to get the first (actual) chapter up sometime tomorrow or later this week.

Thank you!  
>-wingedauthoress<p> 


	2. Chapter 1: Lilith

Lilith Sower

Lilith's reaping day was just like all the others in her small corner of District 11. When it was time to end the gathering before everyone collected in the town square, she looked wistfully up at a pink sunset, broken apart by dark, heavy branches. When she was younger, she often wished she could turn into a bird, her arms becoming wings, her form becoming so light that it could be lifted by the warm wind, carried far away from where she was.

Though she despised the hard work she was made to do, she always took her time climbing down from the trees. Those few, small moments alone with the sky seemed to give her enough strength to go on from day to day. But she had to be careful; if she stayed too long, one of the authorities would come and viciously yank her back to reality by her foot- an experience she knew better not happen twice.

Lilith was a mousy girl; her brown hair was cut to just above her shoulders, exposing most of her tanned neck. Her hands and feet were small and calloused from forever climbing trees. Her family was composed of a mother, a father, and a younger brother who was just learning how to walk.

It was evident, once she got to the square, that those in charge of the public affairs tried to make it a festive occasion, though it was really anything but. Rows of leaves hung on strings across the square and short, white candles burned from their holders on the sides of buildings, creating a soft light against the cool pink sunset.

She saw the globe-like ball that held the girl's names. She saw the woman from the Capitol reaching in and pulling out a piece of paper. But from the moment Lilith's ears picked up her name being echoed across the town square, her world became a blur. She could not remember a time when her heart pounded as wildly as it did, as though frantic to escape her chest. She did not even hear the name of the boy who would be joining her in the arena.

There are very few people in this world who know when they are going to die. When they get hold of the knowledge, it drives most mad. Why not just get it over with already? Why play a game with, well, me? Again, I am not the bogeyman out to strike poor souls with my sickle. I am simply a gatherer. But Lilith didn't see it that way; and who could blame her? She saw me as the opponent; as the ultimate tribute. And she would be damned if I caught up to her.

Lilith began to shake. Every bone, every muscle, every thought quivered with fear. It must have been a mistake. They must have said someone else's name. It couldn't be her. What had she done to deserve this? She had been a thorough gleaner in the fields, a loyal worker to her district, a loving daughter and sister…Oh god… her family.

When they all returned home that night, it was all Lilith could do to sit still. She sat, foot jiggling, hangnails in her mouth, by the small kitchen table while her mother closed the curtains to the kitchen window and lit several small candles, trying to busy herself in every way she could.

Her father tried not to hover over his daughter and stood over the fireplace instead, hands in his pockets, not looking at anybody. Her brother, who didn't understand why everyone was so solemn, climbed onto his sister's lap and blew a loud raspberry in her face, giggling. Despite the overwhelming sadness that loomed over the household, the giggling became infectious to Lilith which, in turn, caused the mother and father to turn to their children and begin smiling and laughing along.

It felt wrong to laugh- as though their burst of laughter had interrupted a funeral. But it wasn't a funeral, not yet, Lilith thought, a rush of determination flooding her. True, she had no formal training, but she wasn't completely helpless. She could climb trees as fast as any of the gatherers, she could balance herself on branches to gather the ripest fruit without causing a single leaf to fall to the ground. She might not have been able to fight, but if she hid well enough, she could outlast them all.

"I'm going to win," she said out loud, and the laughter stopped suddenly, a flame extinguished by a drop of cold water. Her parents looked at one another lost for words, then looked at her. Her father smiled.

"I know you can. I know you will," he knelt down, almost in a fall, and pulled Lilith to him so tightly, she could barely get her arms out to wrap around him. She felt the cold, skinny arms of her mother wrap around her as well, and felt the warm, pudgy hands of her brother grab onto her shirt and hold on tightly. Suddenly, her mother let go. The group of three only had a small moment to turn to each other in confusion before she returned with something small cupped in both hands.

"Take it," she smiled as she pressed a small, cold, metallic object into her daughter's hand. Lilith stared down at it, gazing at the luster of the object in the orange candlelight. It was her mother's necklace, handed down from generation to generation, a perfect replica of a bird known that once lived called a sparrow. It was brown except for the eyes, which were black, and the wings were flung out, as though it had spent its entire life flying. On its back was half a circle which connected it to a chain that completed the necklace.

"It can be your token item," her mother smiled, the dull light making her eyes swim in tears, though not a single drop fell. Lilith's mouth had gone dry. Words failed her. So she did the only thing expected of a fourteen year old girl in more trouble than she ever wanted to be in. She hugged her mother.

The sound of beating hearts is the loudest the first day of the Games. Thundering, pumping, palpitating… a bloody river with silver slivers of adrenaline darting spastically to and fro.

Lilith stood in her respective spot, waiting for the buzzer to sound. Waiting for the games to begin. She clenched her toes in her skin- tight, black boots, ready to dart as soon as the doors opened. The sparrow on her necklace felt cold as it nestled against the lower part of her neck.

She tried to breathe, but her lungs were having trouble letting go of the breath she last took in. She let it out slowly. She couldn't hyperventilate then- not with so many people watching; she would be a target for certain if she showed weakness before the Games even started. Instead, she breathed in, as calm as she could be. She remembered the promise she gave her family- remembered the strength in her father's eyes when she vowed she would win.

She had to win.

She had to hide out. Just hide and outlast them all, was her plan. She wasn't the type to join the Careers in their gang, wasn't the type to charge and kill as many as she could; she _couldn't _kill…could she?

But what if her plan succeeded? What if only she and one other person was left? Who would kill whom?

The buzzer sounded and the doors flung open.

_And may the odds be _ever _in your favor._

A knife to the throat is certainly no pleasant way to die. But it's better than other methods.

Chaos was all around her. As soon as the buzzer released them all from their cells, everyone sprang, as though jolted. Some ran for the cornucopia while others ran for cover in the rocky landscape. Lilith knew the mountain of supplies was a death trap- a very tempting death trap, but it was clear she could see me sitting there, beckoning her.

Which I didn't. Just to clarify.

As she ran, she spotted a loaf of brown, grainy bread that had been dropped by one of the contestants. As she bent down to pick it up, a small spear whizzed over her head, piercing the ground beside her in a panic, she turned and saw a tall girl with tanned skin and black braided hair running at her, more spears in hand.

"Bitch! That bread's not yours- I saw it first!"

Heart jumping in her throat, Lilith wrenched the spear out of the ground and ran for her life. She ignored the other battles going on around her and ran for the rocky terrain of the mountain.

_Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. _More spears flew overhead, narrowly missing her. Once she had reached the mountainside, she put the loaf of bread in her mouth so she could climb more easily. All she wanted was to put as much space as she could between herself and the crazy girl with the spears. The entire side of the terrain that was exposed to the cornucopia was made entirely of rock and the climb was at least thirty feet high.

The mountainside was littered with tributes trying to climb over it. Some were clever about it and were climbing up by a rope, while others depended more on chance and had used a grappling hook to hoist themselves over. Some of the more ruthless tributes- the Careers, probably, Lilith thought anxiously, stayed on the ground and took shots at anyone who was slow; any others were too fast to be caught.

Her entire body felt as though it were on fire as she pulled herself upward. Gravity seemed to have doubled since she was last on the ground; her arms and legs shook, and it was all she could do to keep hold of the spear and not bite the entire way through the bread.

She could hear the mad scuffling of the girl with the spears, and was the smallest bit relieved when it sounded farther than she had expected. She must have been a fast climber or she had been too high up, because the Careers didn't try to shoot at her.

Finally, finally, _finally, _she made it to the top of the mountain. There, waiting for her were, oh thank whoever-is-up-there (I'll never tell), were trees. They weren't like the orchard trees she had been stationed in when she was in District 11; they were tall, had a thicker, dark brown bark, and had needles in the place of leaves. Though they lacked the sweet smell of fruit, they had another smell; a rich, woody smell that reminded her somehow of the winter. Still, though, they were trees. Strange as they were, she could still climb up and hide.

Just as she was making to climb the lowest branch, she heard the _whoosh _of another spear and the dull _thunk _as it embedded the bark close to her. Without a second thought, she climbed up the lowest branch and reached for the second one when she felt herself being grabbed and pulled away by the tall girl.

Taking hold of the tree with one hand, Lilith took the spear and hit the girl hard on head, shouting a muffled: "Leave me alone!" through the bread before rocketing up to the treetop. When she got to the top, the branches and needles began to thin and she could see a very white, very cold sky. She hesitated for a single moment, her breath caught with wonder as she saw snow beginning to fall.

Suddenly, everything went black. An immense pain came from her back and traveled like lightening through her chest. Her grip became a ghost and she fell to the ground, the small bird on her neck, still lost in its flight.

It's sad, isn't it? The death of a girl so young she still wished she could taste the sky. I am telling you these stories for a reason: the Hunger Games must be stopped and those who died must be remembered. Their existence is about to change yours.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey everybody! Thanks to those who read and a BIG thank you to Life is but a Daydream for the wonderful review! Just to clarify, NONE of the characters in this story are or ever were characters from any of the three Hunger Games books. They are of my own creation. I would also like to take a moment and point out the lovely disclaimer that The Hunger Games isn't mine- it is in fact, the property of Suzanne Collins. Thank you, and have a lovely day.


	3. Chapter 2: Caleb

The sun was setting. It had been a quiet day and tension bittered the air because of it. The tributes who were left knew something was about to happen, and Game Makers be damned if it didn't happen soon.

Caleb was crouched in the same hiding spot he had been using for the past day or so. He had kept himself hidden in a crevice between two rocks. It was quite a miracle no one had found him yet, though he wasn't entirely convinced anyone would have been looking; especially since it seemed the remaining tributes were recovering from the other day when a mass explosion had taken out five of them.

He figured himself lucky, having only escaped with a small bit of shrapnel to the shin, which he pulled out and bandaged. It still hurt like hell, and the cut had been deep enough that too much exertion caused it to bleed through his bandages, so he stayed low, trying his best to let himself heal.

He now had no idea where the other tributes might be, but it wouldn't do him any good to sit worrying about it. He brushed his dark brown bangs out of his eyes, simultaneously wiping the sweat from his forehead. The temperature in the arena felt like it had been set to boiling lava hot- and it didn't get any better at night. He felt grimy- not an unusual feeling for him, as he tended livestock back in District 10, but at least then he was permitted a shower once a day.

He gave a quiet sigh and tilted his head back. Fuck this. Just fuck it all. God, he wanted out of there. He clenched his fists tightly, keeping his mind away from everything he missed. Everything he had been taken from.

The sun was mere centimeters above the horizon. Yellow rays were splayed across the rocky purple crag while a vibrant orange spilled across the sky like a broken yolk.

What happened next was like a scene out of the Jurassic period (or like something out of the book of Revelations- I'll let you decide this one). The earth trembled and shook, the plates breaking apart. From there, heat spewed forth, some, only vents gushing hot air, while, from the larger voids, fire spouted forth in sky-length columns. It drew out the remaining tributes, which was exactly what it was supposed to do.

Caleb looked around the crag and saw fire on all sides. It exploded from the ground with a violent fury and doused those remaining in noxious fumes and seething heat. Footsteps pounded in his ears on all sides. Shouts to District partners or allies swarmed hazily in the hot air, the words like bees caught in smoke.

He had to get out of there- but where could he go? His pack was slung over his left shoulder, carrying his precious medical kit and dagger. He was about to turn and run from the chaos, but his heart jumped in his throat at a desperate scream. He turned and saw a girl had gotten her bare foot caught in a vent that was hissing with steam. It was difficult for her to get a grip on her foot, as the steam was too hot for her fingers. She desperately tugged at her leg, but couldn't get loose.

He didn't know who this girl was. For all it mattered, he could have gone off without her. He could've ran; could've found a safe place to hide. But he couldn't ignore those screams. He sighed. _God damn it._

I am afraid I must interrupt here before you go on any further. You see… Caleb hated these games. Loathed them for all they were worth. He hated that he was a part of them. And he hated that no matter how the Games ended, they would always be a part of his life. A brutal scar that would forever tear his soul. This is why, dear listeners, you must watch him closely. He is proof that being human is the strongest quality of a human being.

Caleb sped toward the girl, ignoring the heat from the nearby tower of flames.

"Don't- don't come closer!" She yelled at him as he drew closer.

"Shut up- I'm going to help you!" He roared above the flames that shot out of the earth beside them. He grabbed her scorched foot, emitting fresh screams of pain from the girl, and, hissing with pain himself as heat enveloped his own hands. With a rough yank, her foot slid out, catching the sides of the rock, causing it to bleed.

Once free, the girl fell over onto the red ground, sobbing, her foot, burning and profusely bleeding.

"Get up- we've gotta go!" Caleb yelled at her as he swung his pack over his left shoulder. But she couldn't move. For all the fire around them, the girl was frozen in fear.

"Awww hell," he muttered to himself as he bent down and picked her up. Though she didn't weigh much, his hands began seething when used. He ignored this, and began to run. Caleb grimaced as she gripped his sweat-soaked shirt tightly.

"You- you don't have to c-carry me!" she yelled as they traveled away from the fire and further into the rocky landscape of the crag.

"Would you shut up?" he whispered at her as best he could. God knows what creatures could be out here- not to mention tributes lying in wait. They traveled from then on in silence.

Once they were far enough away from the fire, Caleb's arms began to ache. He had been trying to not apply pressure to his hands while he had been carrying the girl, putting all of her weight on his forearms. They had to get to a sheltered spot soon.

He had only been in the arena for a few days, but he could have sworn the night was darker than it had ever been in his home in District 10.

By the time they reached a an uninhabited shelter, the sun was more than halfway below the horizon and Caleb's arms were shaking. The girl had grown quiet, though hadn't lessened her hold on Caleb's shirt any.

Panting and exhausted, he kneeled and set the girl down in front of the shelter, preparing to crawl in.

"Wait," the girl spoke softly, her voice hoarse. As quietly as she could, the girl tossed a rock into the space between the rock that jutted out and the floor of the shelter. No creatures scurried out, so for all intents and purposes, they decided, it would be safe enough.

The girl crawled into the shelter first and rested her back on the wall and watched as the wiry figure of Caleb tossed in his bag then followed suite with the girl. The two sat there in the dark, catching their breath, silently assessing each other, wondering how each got caught in this situation. After a few moments, the girl broke the silence.

"Why'd you do that?" Though his head was leaned back, Caleb could feel her stare turn towards him. He sighed and shrugged.

"I wasn't just gonna leave you there."

"But why?" she pressed indignantly, "No one has ever- you shouldn't have-"

"Oh, just spit it out," Caleb replied irritably.

"You shouldn't have saved me!" she hissed at him, her brown eyes flashing, "that's not the way it works!"

Caleb gave a great sigh and muttered under his breath, "I still can kill you now if you like."

"Ugh. Just forget it. I'm dead now anyway thanks to my foot."

"Oh yeah; forgot about your foot. I can fix that."

The girl sighed, exasperated. "You really don't get this Game, do you? You're _supposed _to kill me. That's how it works." Caleb opened his pack, taking out his medical kit and setting it on his lap.

"Do you want to die?" he asked calmly, unclasping the lid. The girl gave a hysterical laugh.

"No- I don't want to die-"

"Then why won't you let me help you?" He smiled and held out a role of bandages. She said nothing, but shook her head. In the dying rays of the sun, Caleb could swear he saw a small, incredulous smile hiding behind the locks of brown hair that became loose from her braid.

Caleb put a burn cream on her foot and wrapped it with gauze, then did the same with his hands.

"I can help with that," the girl smiled and took the bandages, wrapping them carefully around his hands. It wasn't long after this that the two began to talk. The girl's name was Chandra. She was from District 8 and loved pressing flowers- when she could get them. They talked about their work; Chandra told Caleb about her work in the textile factory, making uniforms for Peacekeepers. "So dull," she rolled her eyes, "I'm almost glad I won't ever have to go back," she clamped her mouth shut, as though realizing what she had said. Of course she would rather have her old life back; who wouldn't? Who would rather be stuck in this hell hole where there only one who really wins… is me?

Caleb, noticing her shocked silence, began talking about his occupation, "I used to tend cattle. I read in my school book that back in ancient times, there used to be these men called…cowboys? I think that's it. Anyway, they'd wear these huge hats to protect them from the sun and their catchphrase was: 'Howdy',".

Chandra put a hand to her mouth, stifling a raucous laugh, "Howdy? Wow; that's… incredible. Tell me more about cowboys- they seem so interesting."

Caleb chuckled, "That's about all I know about cowboys; they didn't really give us much more history on that. But I actually liked my job. I've been tending cattle since I was about twelve years old. They let us go out in a field; a real field with tons of green grass, and we, the guys I worked with, would sit on horses and watch them graze until about dusk. Every once in a while, one got loose or there would be some kind of territorial issue, but it was… great. Got up at 4 am every morning and went to bed at around 10, after my work was done."

"Wow," whispered Chandra, caught up in the dream of such a job. Since she was ten, she had been stuck in a textile factory. Concrete floors, metal tables, jabbing needles. "Your job sounds like… paradise," she bent her knee with the uninjured foot and rested her arms and head on it. "You're so lucky, Caleb," she turned away from him, thanking whoever was looking out for her, that the starlight was dim and that he couldn't see the tears in her eyes.

He sighed, "Yeah. It was nice. Never got to see my family much, but as far as an occupation, it was better than I could've hoped for."

A tightness clasped itself around his chest as he remembered those sunny days in the green field. He remembered watching calves being born, then raising them, watching them follow their mothers. He remembered having to take the calf away from the mother, if it was sickly or small, and shooting it. He recalled driving the cattle to the stockyards, where they would be turned into meat for the Capitol. God help him if those big, brown eyes didn't haunt him in his sleep.

They didn't talk about the Games. They didn't even talk about me. They needed to ignore it; to cast the reality they were forced into away, if only for a little while.

"You have any water?" he broke the silence, only now noticing how dry his throat had become.

"A little; plus some venison strips, knives, and crackers," came Chandra's soft reply as she dug into the pockets of her black pants, fishing out two plastic bags; one half full of water, the other, containing strips of venison jerky and crackers.

"Ah- a feast fit for the Capitol!" Caleb exclaimed.

"Well, you did use your medicine to help me, so…it's only fair I should give you food," Chandra smiled in the semi darkness. The two ate and drank in silence after deciding to split it up and eat everything, because the food wouldn't last much longer. After their feast was gone and all that were left were crumbs, they sat quietly, looking up at the stars.

"I never knew there were this many stars," Chandra whispered, struck by the beauty. She cocked her head to the side to get a better view. "They're so pretty."

"Yeah," Caleb agreed, smiling, not remembering the last time he had done so that genuinely. He was surprised when Chandra leaned her head against his shoulder. He bit his lip, not quite sure what to make of this physical contact. He was never really one for something like this; not this physical…closeness. But in a way, it was… nice. She was warm, and… calm. For a girl in a death arena, she was calmer than he'd ever been.

"Who takes first watch?" she yawned, taking her act of closeness in stride.

Caleb chuckled softly, "Looks like it's me. You don't sound like you'd stay awake for much longer." He couldn't help but stiffen with hesitation as she moved closer to him, her body now touching his, her head nuzzling sleepily into his shoulder.

"Okay," she murmured, clearly not putting up an argument. She was asleep almost instantly. Caleb wondered how long it had been since she had slept last if she was able to fall asleep this quickly. With a flicker of tentativeness, he put his arm around the sleeping girl, very much enjoying the feeling of holding something so warm and comforting in a place so frightening.

The sun was just rising when they were under attack. Chandra flung the knives she had collected from the Cornecopia at the Careers who found them, while Caleb slashed with his dagger. But the Careers, with their years of training, surpassed their mediocre battle skills with well executed blows with swords and other varieties of weaponry. Caleb and Chandra were over taken. The Careers, three boys stood back in a half circle around them, their weapons gripped, at the ready to fight again, while the girl, a long legged, black haired beauty, taunted Caleb and Chandra, both of whom laid on the ground, panting from the exertion of the fight.

"Any last words before we blow you to itty bitty bits?" the girl whose foot was on Caleb's chest mocked them. "Though I might let you go for a kiss, handsome," she smiled wickedly at Caleb, her hand cradling a small bomb.

"I've got two words for that," Caleb smiled sarcastically before leaping up and screaming, "Chandra, RUN!" he grabbed the small, black bomb from the girl and smiled wickedly as he ran toward the Careers. Before Chandra knew what was happening, she got up, her foot making her lame to walk, and with every last ounce of breath she had, screamed:

"Caleb- NO!"

He threw the bomb at the Careers, who ran, but all were caught in the explosion. Chandra covered her eyes, a horrible fiery feeling climbing up to her arms and face. A roar from the explosion echoed across the rocky stretch of land. When the roar and the fire subsided, she looked around. No one was left standing. She saw several unmoving bodies, the closest of which…

"Caleb!" Chandra ran as fast as she could, limping on her bad foot. Once she had gotten to him, she collapsed, fighting tears, trying to think of what she could do to help. His face was burned badly, parts of his skin scorched black. His arms were bleeding as were his legs from the explosion.

"Okay," Chandra whispered, shaking, "ooohkay, Caleb? Can you hear me?" She tried to feel for a pulse in his neck. There! But it was so weak… "Come on- wake up. Please, wake up, Caleb." She frantically touched his face, wondering if she should give him CPR, then suddenly, he coughed.

"Hey…Chandra," he tried to smile, but oh God, did he hurt.

"H-hey, Caleb," she gulped down panic and tried to replace it with usefulness, "I'm gonna get you fixed up let's-"

"No," his chest felt heavy, his breathing, labored. "You need to go. Win."

"No!" she shook her head, "how can I when you risked your life to save-"

"Look," he gasped, "I don't know if I was supposed to do that or not. I just did. What you can do for me now… is go. There's nothing they can do to me now."

Tears burned their ways into Chandra's eyes, hating this. Hating this moment. Why didn't he just kill her when he saw her? Save her from this?

"I can't leave you," her tears fell on him. But he barely felt them. In fact, Caleb couldn't feel much of anything anymore…

"Go. Win," were his last whispered words as the light in his eyes faded away. Breathing hard, tears making salty tracks down her cheeks, Chandra kissed him on the cheek, picked herself up, and ran.

She ended up winning. She learned to kill. She learned to take care of herself. She adapted to situations. But Caleb ran through her mind constantly. She would be dead without him. Her thoughts didn't stop when she returned home. Constantly, she talked about Caleb and how he should have won, and how his actions, though they didn't make sense to her at the time, almost seemed like a rebellion of sorts.

Caleb listened. When will you?

* * *

><p>AN: Hello to all of my lovely readers! Thank you to all who have left reviews; they were all so thoughtful and I really mean it when I say they make my day. Thank you for being patient with my updates; these take a while to write... and rewrite... and edit... and rewrite again haha ;P Thank you for reading about Caleb! Please review!

*The Hunger Games series does not belong to me. The characters I use in my stories are of my own creation, but the world in which they play belongs to Collins. Thank you.


	4. Chapter 3: Kane

Dear Kane,

You are going to be a killer. A murderer. You are going to take lives. You are going to be ruthless and uncaring towards those around you. But that doesn't mean you don't feel things too. You're angry at the world because the Capitol killed your father for stealing medicine for you when they refused to give him any. In his own small way, he rebelled. And so will you.

Kane ran fast through the maze of jungle, a bloodied knife in hand. It was so dark, he could barely see where he was going. But that didn't matter; it was his fourth kill to take place during the night and his eyes learned to adjust to the silvery light of the stars. Adrenaline rushed through him like lightening bolts; he did it. Again. And he didn't even care.

Not in a million years did Kane ever think he would slit a throat and not think twice about it.

He had successfully killed the lookout, but no sooner had he set down the body that, one of the other tributes woke sharply, as if out of a nightmare, and roused the rest of her group awake.

Kane hadn't even the chance to make an escape. It was a stupid mistake; a novice's mistake not to move quickly right after killing. But really, he was still learning. The only experience he'd had with me outside of the arena was with his father; and he was not the one who spilled blood that day.

Thick vines hung from trees like cold, fat snakes, slimy with humid air. Kane had to duck and jump in order to avoid being tripped or strangled. Breathing hard, a tight grip on his knife, the only positive thought that occurred to Kane was that the group chasing him had no idea who he was or what he looked like.

"I can get him from here!" came a voice from the back of the footsteps. Kane tried to run in a different direction; in any direction, but he couldn't lose them.

_Thwack! _

Immense, blinding pain radiated from Kane's shoulder as a knife lodged itself tightly between sinewy muscle and hard bone. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he fell, tumbling, onto the hard ground. Panting heavily, he raised his head. A place to hide- he needed a place to hide.

Using his good arm and cradling his bad, he crawled into a muddy ditch, kept in shadow hiding beneath the tall grass that grew there. The footsteps fell overhead and, miraculously, went on ahead. He was alone.

Despite his narrow escape, Kane was far from elated. He, in fact, felt angrier than ever. Killing didn't make it better. It was just an outlet for his bitterness towards the Capitol.

It took everything from him. Everything.

His mother died of pneumonia because she wasn't given the proper medical care. It was there; a hospital was only a few miles away from their home, but they didn't have the money to pay for it.

For a while, it was just Kane and his father. They helped each other overcome the sadness of wife and mother, though they knew their house would never be the same again. But there was enough money to pay bills and for food, and sometimes new clothes. Kane had been working for less than six months before falling ill with pneumonia and was unable to work. Less work meant less money. And less money meant not enough to go around for bills, food, and medicine.

During his sickness, Kane noticed his father was quieter than usual, more grave, especially when he didn't think Kane was awake. He kept looking in the direction of the hospital, and looking back at Kane's bed, as though concocting a plan…

Before his father left for work that morning, he spoke to Kane quietly, having him take a pill, saying it would make his pneumonia go away. Kane didn't ask where he got the pill, but took it obediently and went to sleep, his father's kiss lingering on his forehead.

When Kane awoke, it was as though he had been reborn. He had no cough, no fever, no aches. He was completely cured.

He ran to his father's work to tell him the good news, but when he got there, he saw the grain factory had been shut down. Someone in a work uniform passed him by, so Kane asked why it was closed. The man's face grew grim and his hands clenched tightly. He wouldn't tell him anything.

It wasn't long before Kane's stomach started to ache. It was a familiar ache; the ache of panic and sadness and the unknown. Something happened. But what?

I am inevitable. Everyone will eventually meet with me, but until they do, I am somewhat removed from every day thoughts. Unless someone close to you has died, you try not to think about me too much; and who can blame you? The end of a life…the crossing over from the living to the dead…it's depressing. It's scary. It's a kind of thinking better saved for when it actually happens.

But when it does happen, it is a tragedy. The loss of just one person can equal the loss of an entire world. A single gunshot was all it took to forever alter Kane's life. He wasn't even fazed when, at the tender age of fifteen, his name was called to go into the arena.

The sound of a gunshot echoed in Kane's memory as cold mud soaked slowly into his thick khaki shirt, freezing him and making the wound in his shoulder ache and throb. His thoughts flew like sparrows in the fall between his father and his killings in the Game. One…two…three…four…He must be starting to gain a reputation amongst the viewers as well as the tributes; the amateur murderer.

But he had to. He had to kill as many people as possible. He wanted to show the Capitol that he wasn't helpless. That he had the power to kill people too. If they wanted him to play their game, then by God, that was what he would do.

At least he made it quick. Kane was never one who liked a lot of mess. A quick slit in the throat, and he was out of there. Well…that was how it was supposed to go. He sat up painfully, trying not to jar his shoulder, and tried to lay on the wall of the crevice, running troubled fingers through his short hair. He could see the outlines of outlandish jungle plants and tall trees that stretched up to the sky. The night was draped in starlight that illuminated, and hid.

He didn't even hear the footsteps until it was too late.

With a sickening squelch of congealed blood and penetrated muscle, the knife was wrenched from Kane's shoulder. Pulling it out hurt so much more than it had going in; his entire left side felt as though it was on fire and throbbed painfully with every breath he took. He screamed and clenched his shoulder, somehow surprised at how wet and warm it felt. Panting and shaking, he asked who was there.

"I knew it was only a matter of time till I found you," a low female voice murmured from behind him, on the ledge of the crevice. Though Kane was doubled over in pain, she spoke again.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Think you're 'the masked murderer' because you kill only at night! I have news for you- you're a coward! A god dammed coward who isn't going to get away with this any more!"

Still panting from the fresh wound but recovering his attitude, Kane asked, "What's it to you? It's one less person you have to kill, isn't it?" This response earned him a swift kick to the head that made him collapse onto the ground below. The earth beneath him began to sway.

"He was my friend," her voice wavered thickly, as though she were holding back tears, "my best friend. He was in my district; I've known him since we were toddlers- how could you?"

Kane tried to sit up gingerly, cradling his hurt arm, and said hoarsely, "I don't give a fuck. You should be thanking me, you bitch. It was either him or you who was gonna die anyways. I just did your dirty work for you." This earned him an angry shriek and another kick from the girl; this time to his knife wound, which caused Kane to double over again, whimpering. Yes, the great murderer, Kane, was whimpering. He was suddenly tugged up by his hair, feeling a cold sliver of metal pinching his throat. Her lips were centimeters from his ear.

"Then you won't mind if I repay the favor, will you?"

Kane's heart hammered in his chest. So this is what it felt like to be on the other side of a murder. He found he didn't like it much. He felt sick to his stomach; that same feeling he got before his mother died, that awful, gut-wrench that told him everything was as far from alright as it could possibly get, was going to accompany him to his death day. It was going to happen. It was really going to happen. The murderer was going to become murdered.

But for all the sickness in his stomach, his mind felt oddly at peace. Maybe this was the right path for him. He had nothing left for him back home. No parents, no family, no lover. In fact…this was the closest he had ever gotten to a girl. He gave a slight chuckle.

"Sure; but you have to give me a kiss first."

He was met with shock as hot lips smashed with lips cold and chapped. He never expected a girl's lips to be so soft. A part of him even wanted to caress her hair as she stood over him. He had no idea what made the girl do it; maybe she had never been kissed either. Maybe she really did want him to have one last request before she finished him.

Or maybe she wanted his death to be just as silent as all the others he killed.

So young. They are all so young…I know you don't think of me as a very emotional sort of being, but it is now that I beseech you; listen to these stories. Listen to them and grow to understand that these aren't adults; they are children. Listen on, and you may help to demolish these wretched Games.

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><p>AN: Hey everybody. If this chapter isn't as good as the last couple, I apologize. This one was...difficult to write. Mostly because I had to try to get into the mind of a cold blooded murderer (which I am not). I had to end up taking a lot of breaks from it too because it just got so depressing after a while haha so I hope you'll also forgive the late update.

As always, thank you to my readers for reading, my reviewers for reviewing, and Collins for giving me this world to write about. See you guys soon.


	5. Chapter 4: Alter

Alter knew he was dead.

He knew it before he took his first step into the arena.

But he didn't care. He had been dead well before his Games began.

He stood on his spot after the buzzer released the tumults of running feet, battle cries, and screams from fresh injuries. Dull thuds of lifeless bodies hitting the ground soon joined the gruesome chorus. He watched bloodied children fight for their lives over things like backpacks and blankets, numbly recognizing the fabrics from the productions of District 8.

Tearing his eyes away from the gore to the sky, he wondered what would happen if he just stood there? Refused to move for the entirety of the Games? From the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of tributes spare him a confused glance before sprinting into the arena- a forest, dense with white, wiry webs. He knew he wasn't moving. He didn't care to go anywhere.

He didn't move as the battles for equipment became fiercer.

He didn't move to help those wounded crawl to a hiding spot in the nearby woods.

He didn't move to avoid the spear headed straight for his chest.

Pain. Blinding, intense, aching that stretched from his chest to the rest of his body.

Running feet were the first to see him in death. "Not even a knife? Why the hell'd you just stand there? Idiot." They left as quickly as they came.

Blood splattered his glasses, making the sky red. His last bloody sunset.

Through the red, he saw himself, younger and much, much happier. He and his little sister sat in the living room of their home building a castle with wooden blocks. He promised her, though he knew even then that it would never come true, that their family would live in a castle one day, just like the princesses in fairy tales. She looked at the towering blocks in amazement, her curly blonde hair brushing over her shoulders, and clapped her hands happily.

The red began to smear as the images flashed forward to a time when he was older, the world grayer. His shaking hand reached up to take his parents' Ids, offered to him by a Peacekeeper. Both his mother and father had been executed for involvement in an anti-governmental group; the Ids were all he and his sister had left of them, as traitors to the government were not given proper funerals. He felt the warmth of his sister's small fingers as it grasped his other hand. Her life was his to care for now. They had no grandparents, no aunts or uncles. A small sum of money was left to them, but they had to leave their home and move into a smaller apartment. He was old enough that he could drop out of school to work full time, they could make rent and afford a little to eat. They would make it work.

The scarlet became blurred but this time didn't fade entirely. Through tinted red, he reached to grasp his sister's feverishly hot hand dangling from the bed. She was sick- dying even. And he couldn't do anything about it. He had no money for medicine. There was no one he could turn to- no one who would spare a passing glance. He felt her pulse weakening and in turn, his began to race in panic. She couldn't be dying; it wasn't fair! She was the only one who cared about him; the only one who kept him alive. She was all he was living for.

As her heartbeat slowed to a stop, so did his. Alter's heart couldn't beat anymore; it had broken completely.

His name was called for the Games the next day. He had never been more relieved. He could even have ventured to be happy.

Alter blinked his eyes and the red cleared. To his disbelief, his sister stood before him, holding out her hand for him to take.

The Games took fiercely- selfishly, but in a way, they gave back. Tragedy can still give birth to opportunity. Whether or not that opportunity should be used wisely is up to the person.

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><p>AN: Hey everybody! Sorry this one's a little shorter than the others and that it took me a while to complete. I actually had to redo this one over so it was a bit of a mess at first. Hope you liked it!

As always, thank you to my lovely readers and reviewers.


	6. Chapter 5: Lucia

As far as Lucia could remember, her world has been dark. She was born without sight, and so, born without seeing light. Her hair was light blonde, her skin pale, as was the case for the rest of her family. A middle child in a family of seven, she learned to get along without the sense of vision. She was able to function remarkably well without it- remembering exactly where furniture was in the house, and even where she set down her belongings.

Outside of her home, her life wasn't much different. She kept a small job at a garden nursery, using her incredible sense of smell and touch to tell how much water pine saplings needed, as well as which ones were ready to be transported to other grounds, where the smaller trees could flourish into giants. She became incredibly adept at deciphering different types of plants, whether they were poisonous or nutritious, whether they had the ability to heal or hurt.

The nursery prospered greatly with her there; she seemed to give life to all plants that were wilting by talking, sometimes even singing to them as she gave them water. On days when the nursery didn't have much business, she would walk up the mountainside where the pine trees would grow freely, and enjoy the warmth of the sun and the pine scented breeze as it washed over her.

Despite not being able to see, her life was good. Her life was whole. She had everything she needed.

But, as with all of the other children in my stories, it was not long before I brought a new type of darkness to this life.

Let the Games begin.

When Lucia's name was called, her family screamed at the Peacekeepers.

"They can't take her! They can't take my baby!" her mother cried, fighting tooth and nail to get to her daughter. "She can't even see!"

"Please!" her father beseeched them, his hands on his wife's shoulders, trying to calm her, "she won't make it back- there has to be something in the rules about this!"

Both of her younger brothers began to cry while her two older sisters comforted them, feeling utterly helpless.

Lucia heard all of the sounds of anguish from where she stood. Her agile ears recognized the voices as those from the nursery whose gasps of shock and cries of sadness filled the square. A cool wind blew across her face, blessing the air with the smell of pine as though even the trees were mourning her loss.

Her heart had never felt so broken. She would have to face the Hunger Games like all of her other fellow tributes. Determination burned through the sadness that once felt so powerful. She didn't know whether or not she would make it, but she would be damned if she couldn't make it just as far as the rest of them.

Lucia was far cleverer than her opponents could have perceived. On the first day of the Games, she not only swiped a walking staff made of, what felt like, expensive wood, and space blanket, but was able to flee into the mountainous arena and conceal herself from the Careers when they stomped past her hiding spot. She foraged around the rocky landscape for herbs or plants she could eat. With her blanket, there was no need for her to build a fire to keep warm. By keeping a sharp ear on the world around her, Lucia was able to get by.

At night, she counted the booms in the sky that dictated how many tributes had fallen that day. Thus far, fourteen all together had failed to make it home.

She often had wondered how she made it as far as she had. It couldn't all be pure luck. Were the tributes avoiding her because they felt sorry for her? No…that wouldn't be possible. If a tribute truly felt pity for another, the best thing to do for them would be to kill them. Lucia sighed and tipped her head back, resting it on the trunk of a tree where she had stopped to rest.

How many times had she been to this same tree? She had no idea; everything felt the same in this place. She hated it. She felt struck with surprise with how deeply her hatred ran for these Games.

She had never really hated anything before.

She could cope with being blind- there was no one to blame for that.

She could manage with the fact that she had to use a walking stick or the fact that her ears had to overcompensate for her sightless eyes.

She didn't even hold much resentment toward the Capitol for being able to cure her blindness, but choosing not to, insisting that it would make the Games far more interesting. So she had to keep going on the way she always had- even _that _didn't seem so bad.

She had never in her life wanted something so badly at that moment, but to go home. The fact that the god dammed Capitol made her wish almost impossible was beginning to be too much to bear. The wind blew, helpless to her troubled mind. She sniffed the air.

_They couldn't even use real pine for these mountains, _she seethed, _these trees have been modified to grow when they weren't supposed to. _She felt as though she had even lost the nature around her that had been so beautiful.

Lucia had been so lost in her anguish that she almost didn't hear another tribute sneaking up behind her. She swung her walking stick in the direction of the intruder where her stick met with a dull thud, as though it had caught metal.

"Not bad," the tribute (a girl, it sounded like), "you're a lot more capable than I thought you'd be, but let's see how long that lasts."

Lucia found herself readying for a fight, her already tampered emotions not taking kindly to the girl's tone. She could practically feel the smirk emanating from that smug mouth. She drew her walking stick closer to her, ready to defend or attack.

They had been fighting for a good part of the morning, both unable to hit the other, neither having the resources to call for help.

"You sound tired," Lucia commented evenly, as though they were taking a stroll through a park and not a battlefield. "Your breathing has been heavier than usual. Would you like to rest before we battle on?"

"No," the other girl's voice stung the air harshly. After a few moments of trying to catch her breath, she swore in frustration. "Why is it so hard to kill you?" she screamed, lunging toward Lucia once more.

The swish of the blade came from her left side. Lucia dodged by going to the right.

Another scream of aggravation- this time, from behind her. Lucia stepped to the side to evade the blow, hearing a satisfying clang as the blade hit the rocky ground.

"How do you do it?" Lucia's opponent asked, "how do you get by without your sight?"

Lucia shrugged impassively, but smiling a little, "I guess you can't miss what you've never had." Her opponent paused a second too long, and it was now Lucia went on the offensive, stabbing her dagger near the source of the heavy breathing, only to meet with a clang as well.

"Just too bad I'm as fast as you," the other girl crowed.

"Being as agile as a blind girl doesn't sound like much to brag about," Lucia smirked. Though she was in no place to talk smack, she enjoyed it nonetheless. She tucked and rolled out of the way, avoiding another swooshing hit.

As Lucia rose, she was suddenly hit by the smell of pine trees. A force of homesickness and nostalgia almost knocked her to her knees. How long had it been since she had been home? _Too long a time_, she thought, the pine wind echoing in her ears, her long hair streaming around her face. The will to fight became extinguished. She missed her mother and her father. She missed her brothers and sisters. And she missed the pine nursery. She ached for things to be as they were.

This time, when she heard the swing of the blade, she made no move to get away.

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><p>AN: Hey everybody! This is chapter 7, for real this time! I took it down last time because I read it over and I thought I could do a bit more with it so...hopefully this time around, it'll be better! Thank you all for reading and an extra sugar coated thank you for those who take the time to review- it really does make my day.


	7. Chapter 6: Nausicaa

I'm a strange phenomenon. You don't always think about me, but when you do, it's usually when I'm very close by, like after a particularly car accident or when a family member passes away. And I'm not a flighty guest. I linger in the subconscious of those who have experienced a death-induced tragedy.

Poor unfortunate souls.

They can watch all the mindless television.

They can melt their eyes on the computer screen.

They can look the other way when passing by a graveyard and pretend it isn't there.

But someone, somewhere right at this moment is breathing his last breath while I stand here talking to you. So you must know that what I'm talking about is crucially important to the history of mankind, don't you?

Of course you do.

Because if you listen to me,

If you act upon what I am telling you,

There will be fewer deaths in this world because the Games would finally be at an end.

Maybe then I could even take a vacation.

But until that impossible day happens, let me tell you a story about a girl named Nausicaa.

Nausicaa was an eighteen year old girl living in District 6. Sharp as a tack. After years of schooling, she took on a job working in the transportation department- a dream job for anyone who lived in 6. She loved trains ever since she was young. Her father, who was a mechanic for the transportation industry, gave her books about trains and showed her they worked.

She never knew how glorious the speed of the trains felt until she was riding one to The Capitol with her fellow tributes.

Nausicaa never thought she would be chosen for the Games. She had made it all the way to her eighteenth birthday without having her name getting called. She didn't even want to dwell on the unfairness of it all. She was so close…

She sat on the carpeted floor of her cabin, feeling the soft rumbling of tracks beneath her. Somehow, it was soothing to her- the soft, steady rocking motion. It was solid and secure; something her life had failed to be ever since her name was called. The strange thing was, even though Nausicaa had worked on the trains, she never actually felt compelled to ride in them. She designed the smoothness of the tracks, shaped the gears and the levers, and chose the best airtight windows to seal off the outside world. It didn't matter to her where they went, as long as she could see them back safe. She was at home with the trains.

Strange, too, that she should feel so at home in something that was leading her to death. Her head was full of strange thoughts today, but then when better to have strange thoughts than the time when they might be your last sane ones?

She wished she could see who the engineer was. She might even know him. Oh…suddenly the desire to see him wasn't as strong as before.

Nausicaa rolled over onto her back, blinking back the sunlight that fell in a stream from the window. As much as she hated where the train was taking her, she wished the ride could last forever.

The girl jumped as she heard a knock on her door and stood, quickly wiping away any existence of tears. Her mentor had already yelled at her once for teary eyes. Weakness would not do in the arena. After all, no one sympathizes with the crybaby. The audience will always go for those who are strong inside and out.

Once Nausicaa opened the door, she was surprised to see the other tribute for District 6, Palmer. She was twice as surprised to see him looking just as scared as she felt. Despite being two years younger than Nausicaa, Palmer had been holding his own fairly well, but now looked a bit queasy.

"If you came in here to puke, you'd better do it somewhere else," Nausicaa tried to joke, though now that she saw her fear reflected in her teammate's eyes, it was slowly becoming more difficult to ignore it. Palmer shook his head and stood there, as though he had gone there with the intent of saying something, but had lost his words along the way.

"Well…do you want to come in?" she asked, the loneliness from her solitude getting the best of her. Palmer nodded, stepping inside. Nausicaa marveled at how tall he was- the small tips of her spiked orange hair barely reached bulky shoulders. If anyone could survive the games, it might be him- he certainly had the muscle from moving around all of those train parts day after day.

The two were silent for a while. Nausicaa went to sit on her bed while Palmer stood facing the window, watching trees and mountainsides flash by.

"It's strange riding in one of these, isn't it?" Nausicaa said softly, her eyes traveling toward the window as well. Palmer nodded, pursing his lips together. It may have been a trick of the light, but Nausicaa could have sworn his eyes were watering. She looked away, not wanting to invade his privacy.

"We spend all our lives putting them together then they take us to our death," Palmer's words came out in a gravelly voice. Nausicaa shook her head.

"They're just trains. I understand about the irony of it all, but…I think that if these trains could feel and think…they would take us far away from here."

Palmer gave a chuckle. "You sure you haven't lost your marbles yet? You're starting to talk like you have." He ducked as a pillow was thrown his way.

"Is that why you came here? To mock my sanity?" Nausicaa asked, a smile working its way onto her face, "Well I hate to disappoint you, but I never had much sanity to begin with!" The two laughed. Incredulously, desperately, achingly, hysterically. Though neither of them knew it before, it was something that each of them needed. The destination did seem foreboding, but that didn't mean the journey there had to be difficult.

They talked for a while after they had calmed down. They talked about themselves, their families, their favorite foods, everything.

Though she knew what lied beyond the stop at the train station was inevitable, Nausicaa felt comforted knowing that she had at least made a friend on her journey. She basked in the warmth of the memory, determined to keep it with her when their time of travel was over.

Before they knew it, the last night of their train ride had arrived. They would be at The Capitol in the morning. Despite trying to keep high spirits during the days prior, Nausicaa and Palmer both spoke little at dinner and Palmer followed Nausicaa back to her room after they ate, which was a first, as they would usually have gone their separate ways until morning. But tonight was different. It was their last night to forget.

They kept the cabin lights off. They had no want to turn on the light; they could think just fine in the darkness. Nausicaa lay on her bed while Palmer laid on the floor, each consumed in his and her own thoughts. For once, the cabin lacked the sound of talking and laughter and only hummed with the rumbling of the tracks. It chilled Nausicaa- this rapid change in demeanor and atmosphere. She wanted things to remain the same- she didn't care if she was sentenced to ride this train for the rest of eternity as long as it didn't stop. She sat up suddenly.

"I have an idea," she said, smiling. Palmer just lay there. Nausicaa got up and grabbed his hand, using all of her weight to pull him up. Eventually, she wound up unsuccessful. "Come on, Palmer- let's go! Get up! I think you're really going to like this!"

"Why?" Palmer asked, letting his hand fall to the floor. "It's not like we're going to be able to escape or anything. We're still going to die once we get to that goddamn arena."

Nausicaa pursed her lips. They had tried to refrain from speaking about what would happen at the arena, regardless of what they were feeling. The idea of dying was too difficult to fathom at that moment. Or ever.

"I know. We can't do anything about the situation we're in- but I do have a way we can make it more bearable. Now, I'm going. If you don't want to, that's your decision, but it's a pretty bad one 'cause this is going to be awesome." With that, she skipped out of the cabin. Palmer watched her go then grudgingly picked himself up. He wanted to sulk, goddamm it. This had better be worth it.

Once he had caught up to her, she smiled, then opened a door that led to a ladder and began to climb.

"You sure we're allowed to do this?" Palmer asked as he began to climb as well.

"I'm sure," Nausicaa's answer echoed back, "I'm sure they've taken precautions so we won't try to escape, but if they wanted this exit closed to everybody, they would have made it harder to get to." The sound of a latch being turned and the squeal of a door opening reached Palmer's ears. "Come on up!" Nausicaa shouted down to him, her voice masking a laugh.

Palmer reached the top and was greeted by a wall of cool air rushing toward him. Without man-made lights, the stars seemed ten times as bright as they did at home. They were flying past mountaintops and trees, flying through the night. Palmer opened his mouth to laugh and tasted freedom.

Nausicaa reclined on the train's cold, flat roof, stretching her arms and taking in the wind that was rushing past. If a person could die from being too happy, then they might as well start digging her grave now. They stayed on the roof until sunrise and watched deep blue fade into vibrant reds and pinks and yellows and oranges. Nausicaa and Palmer stared at the sky until their eyes watered. It was okay to cry now. It would all be over soon.

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><p>AN: Hey everybody! Sorry it's been forever and a day since I've written! I've got another idea ready for the next chapter, so keep a look out! I can't wait to go see the movie- I've heard it's really good, so I'm excited! :D

As always, a BIG thank you to all of my lovely readers and reviewers- it seriously makes my day when you guys read and review. I do this little happy dance and...yeah...I've said too much. See you all soon!


	8. Chapter 7: Joule

It's amazing how quickly I can come about. Sometimes I even surprise myself with the rapidity in which I am able to take the soul away from the body. But what many human beings miss- especially if they're not the one doing the dying- is just how long those last couple of seconds seem.

Joule had been wandering around the arena for some time. With his slight and nimble frame and fast feet, he had managed to escape the bloody slaughter of the first day, though his partner, Luminaire, had been caught and killed nearly four steps near the Cornucopia. Joule had not time nor feeling to grieve. He was too busy fighting for his own life.

But just then, it had only been him in the arena, which was a marsh filled with tall grasses, scattered ponds, dozens of bushes covered in bright, multicolored berries, and overlooked by a constantly grey sky.

Joule really had no idea how he had managed to avoid me thus far, but he was only three days into the Games and he knew the Careers had formed an alliance, ready to take him or anyone else down.

He was as careful as he could be, but it was difficult and suffocating to stay hidden in the tall grass all the time. But if he exposed himself into one of the small clearings, he knew he would be killed. Such thoughts made him try to think of better times, so he found himself giving much thought to his home.

Despite living in District 5, Joule didn't know very much about his district's craft. His class had only just started learning it when he had been chosen to be a part of the Hunger Games. While he forced his way through mud and scratchy blades of grass, his thoughts were with his family and what they were doing without him.

Thinking about all of his classmates, still together, still learning, made him feel more alone than he ever had. As he laid down his first night by a berry bush that was becoming overtaken by the tall grass, he began to realize just how small and powerless he was. He had no weapons with which to fight; he didn't even have the power of knowledge that his craft would have given him.

But because he spent the night beneath the berry bush, he spent most of it smelling the delicious berries. His stomach growled angrily at him throughout the night, demanding the berries be eaten. But he knew he mustn't. His knowledge on berries was vague, but he was sure anything put in here by the Capitol would surely lead to poison.

So, for the second time in two nights, he found a berry tree to rest under. He wrapped grass around his bony, shaking frame, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm in the winds that had begun to rage with a storm brewing.

As he slept, he dreamed. He was back home with his family. His mother, a sweet, pale woman with vibrant brown curly hair was smiling at him as she sat him down at the kitchen table. His father was also there- a kindly man with glasses and graying, light brown hair who gave his son a pat on the shoulder. Joule's baby sister was also there in the family's old, wooden high chair, banging a spoon against the side.

Joule's mother set down a bowl in front of him full of fresh, beautifully ripe berries with swirling dark blue hues. Joule picked up the fork that had appeared beside his bowl and hesitantly poked a berry with the prongs, watching the purple juice flow down the metal of the prong with a slow fascination before putting it into his mouth.

His tongue exploded with the blissful flavors of that berry; it was sweet, tangy, spiced- the most delicious berry he had ever tasted. He could feel the juice flowing from his teeth and his tongue down to the back of his throat. His stomach was finally satisfied; it had stopped its menacing growling.

He looked at his mother, whose smile had turned sad, tears filling her eyes. Panicked, he looked at his father, whose tears were also brimming behind partially clouded spectacles. His sister's face crumbled as though she were about to cry.

But what could have happened? Joule wondered, staring around at his family, sad and scared, wondering why they were acting this way. He became even more panicked when he realized his tongue had gone numb.

He tried to raise his hands to see what had gone wrong with his mouth when he found his hands no longer bothered obeying him. They laid by his side, unable to move. What was going on?

A loud crash of thunder transported Joule from his cozy home to the dark marshes of the arena. Cold drops of rain were falling fast from an angry sky. He was still wrapped in the grass, but the numbness in his mouth and arms remained and he could feel it creeping down to his legs. His entire upper body was completely immobile, save for some of the muscles in his eyes.

He was able to look up, as he was lying flat on his back, to the berry bush, puzzled, and frightened. So very frightened.

The lightening flashed, highlighting the berry bush for a brief moment before sinking the world into rainy darkness once more. It only took that lightning flash for Joule to realize what had happened. A berry had fallen into his mouth while he was sleeping. What a stupid, stupid thing to happen to him!

His entire body was now numb. He couldn't feel the coldness of the rain anymore, nor could he have moved out of it if he had wanted to. Even the muscles in his eyes were beginning to wane power over to the berry's effects.

No. He couldn't die like this; he wanted his mother and his father. He couldn't move- he couldn't even blink. He was so scared- why couldn't they come for him if he needed him so badly? How could there be so many seconds and milliseconds before I finally came for him? He couldn't stand the anxiety of dying- all he wanted was to be home again.

So I gave him his wish.

I did it with a bitter heart, but welcoming arms. I took him to a place where the Capitol would never hurt him again, and I promised that his loved ones would find him there one day. His spirit was a calm one, as though his final moments of panic and anxiety had washed him clean of any worry.

I am happy for his spirit, but my passivity has given way to the roiling anger I have stored in my heart for the millennia of unjust killings. They must stop and you must stop them because I have not the power to do so

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><p>AN: Hello dear readers! I apologize for taking so long to update! I hope you liked this chapter, though it's a bit depressing. I'll try to fix that for next time; it'll be a bit easier to work with District 4 because more is known about it.

As always, thank you for reading! I love getting reviews, and if there's something you liked or didn't like about this chapter, please let me know!

Farewell, dear readers!


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